


Three Marks

by Idle_Inkling



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Catharsis, Confrontations, F/F, Heart-to-Heart, One Shot Collection, Personal rendition, Small but right amount of affection, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idle_Inkling/pseuds/Idle_Inkling
Summary: She felt it, Tissaia made sure she had, and now her emotions were in a spiral. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t erase the Rectoress from her mind. Tissaia’s ocean-filled eyes were grey from the storm she felt within herself, her tall demeanor felt so demure, and the placid expression she often wore revealed its hairline fractions
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54





	Three Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Set in S01X07: Before A Fall  
>  _(Started: 7th of Feb 2020 | Finished: 19th of Oct 2020)_

* * *

Opulent hues of reds melded with streaks of oranges and yellows as daylight unapologetically tainted Tissaia’s office with a sepia cast. It was already midday. For the girls in Aretuza, it marked the suspension of their studies and the beginning of their leisure time. For Tissaia, however, it meant that she was behind on her report for the Brotherhood. Her frame, albeit petite in reality, cast a towering shadow from her desk to the wall adjacent to her. In mid-lettering, she flicked her other wrist and kindled the enchanted candles around her, and with a small attunement of magic, she exalted their intensity to her liking. 

With the final cursive penned onto parched paper, Tissaia appended the document with her signature at the bottom. After scrutinising the presentation of her report, from the spacing between the lines to the size of her lettering, she folded and embellished it with the Brotherhood’s seal. _Done,_ she breathed. She stiffly rose from her chair, feeling the knots in her back, and straightened her posture as she looked out of her window. 

The Conclave of Mages was at their heels, and while Tissaia implicitly trusted the mages who have pledged their magic to her and Vilgefortz’s cause, she knew they needed to persuade the other half of sorcerers and sorceresses to maximise their victory. No doubt, Stregobor and Artorius have already conscripted mages onto their side of the round table. Her colleagues’ opposition has become poisoned with personal vendetta over the decades; Stregobor’s wounded masculinity and Artorius’ belief that Tissaia had a hand in stealing his niece’s place at Aedirn’s court were the primary catalysts of this.

She toyed with her pendant to ease her apprehension. As things stand, Nilfgaard is spearheading their way through to Cintra, and Queen Calanthe is rejecting any assistance from the mages of the Brotherhood. Tissaia knew the girl better than to be naïve or obtuse to fail to grasp the gravity of the situation. No. Like her namesake, she was proud. _Too_ proud to seek help, to _plead_ for the assistance from the Brotherhood. Foolish, _foolish_ girl. Her pig-headedness reminded her of another. A student of hers who refused to be disciplined. 

_Yennefer._

Before Tissaia could find herself entangled in thoughts filled with disillusion and general chagrin for her rebel, she felt a disturbance momentarily break the equilibrium of magic in Aretuza. Another similar disturbance happened in conjunction with the first. A portal must have been opened. She knew Vilgefortz had ventured out in a personal quest he promised her privy to later, but she wasn’t informed of another mage leaving Aretuza. Did Vilgefortz bring someone back?

Hurried footsteps at the beginning of the hall echoed down the corridor. Heels tapped against the pebbled floors, shrill laughter and juvenile gossiping occupied the spaces between their footsteps. As they got closer to her door, their presence suddenly became more nimble and scarce. A few moments passed and the hallway was brandished with idle chatter again after they had passed her door. 

These girls, although easily controlled and readily pliable to be moulded into the standards befitting the Brotherhood, lacked the substance Tissaia yearned for in her students. Majority of these girls up until this point have lived privileged lives and were blithely ignorant on how to use their hands when it didn’t involve braiding their hairs, or weaving daisies together into chains. 

They didn’t possess a conduit moment like the other girls - those who have felt dirt under their nails, have had their pretty dresses dragged through mud, and have grasped the _reality_ that was not told in fairy tales. No, they were not guilty of inheriting chaos. They were only guilty of being ugly. Unable to marry these girls off to other wealthy families, they were discarded and the Brotherhood was paid to adopt them. 

The families had to keep up appearances, of course. They couldn’t afford to sully their hands with the blood of their own child. What would their social circles think of them? Subjecting their child to depravity was lighter on their conscience and more convenient for the linings of their pockets. 

A sudden knock on her door pulled her out of her thoughts and she gripped her pendant against her chest. She looked over her shoulder and called. “Come in.” 

A student peeked her head through the slot of the door before she teetered into her office. “Ma-Madame De Vries,” she greeted with a small bow before continuing, “Sir Vilgefortz has asked for your presence in the Alchemy room.” 

Tissaia turned around. She was right in thinking that Vilgefortz had returned. That second disturbance from before must have been from his guest - her seeming interloper. “Did he say why?” 

She shook her head. Soft brown curls swayed in frantic rhythm. Tissaia raised her eyebrow at the girl, promptly reminding her to communicate with her tongue and not with her head. She’s not mute, after all. “N-No, Madame. Just that you are needed.” 

“Was he with anybody else?” 

“He was alone.” 

So who would the other person be if not Vilgefortz’s guest? 

“B-But there was a lady earlier. I saw her in the corridors with Glacella and the others, heading to the bottom of the keep.” 

This definitely piqued her interest. “Describe this lady to me. Have you seen her before?” 

“No,” she said, shaking her head again. “No one from here. But she was a rare beauty, Madame! Raven curls with mesmerising purple eyes! She was so _beautiful,_ I thought she was fiction.” The girl was completely enamored with Yennefer, entranced even. Her eyes were lit with the starry possibility of modifying her appearance to the same level of perfection, and her cheeks burned in a rosy hue at the recollection of the raven beauty.

Trepidation instead of merriment plagued Tissaia’s heart. Before the girl could ramble on about how gorgeous Yennefer was, Tissaia opened the doors and stepped out into the hallway. She paced herself at first but found her patience too short for such a long journey. With an outstretched arm, she summoned a swirling, spiralling pool that tore a hole in reality, and stepped into it.

* * *

By the time she stepped out, she saw Vilgefortz patiently waiting for her near the door. Judging by how wide his eyes were, he didn’t expect her to teleport to him. “Tissaia,” he quickly acknowledged, hopping out of his seat to meet her halfway in the room. “We need to talk.” 

“Hmm. I already know what you’re going to say, but regale me with your tale of deceit.” She ensconced herself in her regular seating, crossing one leg over the other, and she gestured for him to speak when silence fell between them.

Vilgefortz was correct to be careful with his steps. “I didn’t deceive you, Tissaia. We discussed at length last night how we are lacking strength amongst our mages. They are powerful, yes, but they are not enough. You told me about Philippa, but she is entangled at court in Redenia to join us on short notice. Then I remembered Yennefer of Vengerberg, your prized protégé. You’re the one who informed me of her power and her skill as a sorceress.” 

“I also believe I told you about her ugly streaks of temper, impatience and general volatility. She is a double-edged sword, Vilgefortz. Do not expect me to be the act-in vessel to contain her when she loses all sense of control over her chaos.” 

“I don’t expect you to. We are already taking a gamble, Tissaia.” He was closer to her now, one more step and their legs would be touching. “We _need_ all the help we can get.” 

“And Yennefer _agreed_ to help?” Skepticism dripped off the tone of her voice. Surely after engaging in conversation with her estranged student, Vilgefortz would have become acquainted with her stubborn and selfish nature.

“Not necessarily….” 

Tissaia rolled her eyes and shifted off her seat. She moved quickly to avoid Vilgefortz’s touch. “Did you lure her here under false pretenses?” she asked, whipping back around. 

“She’s aware of our main goal - to stop Nilfgaard from progressing through the Northern Kingdom.” 

“That’s not enough. _That_ wouldn’t have enticed her to come here. Ever since she abandoned her post in Aedirn, she has been impartial to politics. Not to mention, she _loathes_ these walls.”

“But she doesn’t hate you,” he replied. 

Tissaia snorted. Yennefer hated her existence the most. She despised being caged behind these walls _because_ of her. “Do not humour me.” She finally gathered enough of herself to speak. 

“The only reason she agreed to come here with me is because of you. The mention of your name was enough to compel her to change her plans. If she hated you so much, why would she waste her time to see you?” 

To provoke her. To gloat at her predicament. To see her step down from her glass pedestal and beg. Every motive that wasn’t of sinister and ill-intent elapsed her mind. Yennefer wasn’t a stranger in brandishing her sharpened tongue at her, not since she learned how to wield it. Her words were contrived to cut deeper than any physical touch could cut in a shorter space of time - quick and efficient, just as Tissaia had taught her many, many moons ago. 

She pursed her lips as she evaded his stares. She walked around the wooden worktable that was littered with herbs and a used mortar and pestle, skimming her hand on the smooth surface. “It seems they took a little detour here.” She stopped and inspected the mixed substance with intrigue. 

With a sigh, Vilgefortz allowed her to abandon their conversation and he joined her at the table. “Rhwydwaith carthion and Bison grass.” He noted lightly. Tissaia was quick to pick up a hint of fondness in his voice. “I remember back in my days in Ban Ard when we would steal these herbs right from under Stregobor’s nose.” 

Tissaia twirled the string of fine grass in her fingertips. “I’d find it hard to believe if you told me that you stole these herbs to extend your knowledge in botany.” 

“I did, but not in the conventional sense…” He chuckled when Tissaia raised an eyebrow. “These herbs are mixed together to make mild hallucinogens. The effects only last a few minutes and it isn’t anything harmful.” Tissaia’s lingering interest in the concoction did not go unnoticed by her companion. “I could show you how to mix them, if you’d like.” 

Sharp and disapproving: Tissaia gave him a look he has become familiar with. 

“I promise those days have remained back when I was a Ban Ard boy.” He had his hands up in defence to show his genuinity. He smiled when Tissaia’s lips quirked up slightly into an amused smirk. The tension between them has lifted slightly. 

Tissaia then nodded at the disarrayed herbs. “Tend to this mess while I tend to the one downstairs.” 

He was quicker than her this time, and he lightly placed his palm against her stomach to stop her. The pressure was enough to demand her attention, but light enough to imply that there would be no resistance in his part if she still wished to leave. “What are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “It all depends on Yennefer.”

* * *

_“Enough!”_ Tissaia raised her voice more than she would have liked, but it was necessary to gain the attention she wanted. She couldn’t stand idly any longer and watch Yennefer pluck at the seams of her hard work. These girls needed discipline to succeed in a life they have unknowingly already failed in, and she wasn’t going to let her greatest failure regale these girls with anecdotes that will make them resilient to her teaching. 

For the first time in years, their eyes locked. 

“Back to your rooms, girls.” Tissaia purposefully looked down on the ground as the trio scurried back up. She needed to remain poised, especially in their presence, because a scintilla of weakness would be her loss. 

After they had hurried up the steps, Tissaia forced herself to gaze back up. Despite the time that grew in between them, their feelings remain unchanged. Yennefer still looked at her with contempt in her eyes and with a clenched jaw, silent but ready. 

It was all the same. And Tissaia was tired of it. 

Yennefer scoffed and her lips moved as if she was going to speak, but Tissaia was quicker at delivering the first blow. “You ruined one life. Stop there.”

Seeing how little Yennefer seemed to have grown since their last encounter, Tissaia decided against wasting another breath on her. They have lived enough lifetimes to know that this conversation would be futile - and at this point, impractical. So, Tissaia turned her back on Yennefer, knowing the girl was frothing at the mouth for not having the last say. 

While seemingly placid on the outside, Tissaia’s emotions were flickering like wildfire. Only Yennefer knew how to conjure such raw emotions within her, and each time Tissaia felt it in her chest, she hated herself for it. Tissaia gripped her hands together to help regain balance.

“I never even wanted to come back here!” 

As expected, Yennefer hounded her down, catalysed by her own dissatisfaction for losing power in their conversation. _Power._ That has always been her impulsion to accomplish anything, because the currency of power is boundless. And if there’s anything that Yennefer has ever wanted, it was _everything._

Tissaia sighed and stopped. Yennefer did as well. “Then you failed at that, too,” she said matter-o-factly, eyes sharp and lips tightly pressed together.

“Look at this place. It’s a joke!” Yennefer exclaimed, continuing, “Letting in girls who can’t even do magic.” 

“Sometimes you have to compromise in order to survive.” 

Yennefer’s eyes harden on her. “You say I never took responsibility for the way my life turned out. What about you?” 

Tissaia’s jaw clenched at the question, almost indignantly. She reflected on what to say, but the rush of fellow sorcerers and sorceresses flooding into the meeting room behind them made her lose grasp of what she had intended to say. 

“What’s going on?” Yennefer asked. 

“It’s happening.” 

She didn’t have time for Yennefer anymore - to argue, or plead for her participation in the incoming war. She rushed into the room and joined Vilgefortz’s side. To her surprise, Yennefer followed closely behind Triss. While her alliance wasn’t official, her attendance in this meeting was still crucial.

* * *

The meeting was a failure. Albeit Tissaia had already envisioned this, she didn’t expect for the odds to outweigh them so drastically. The thought of casualties, destruction and death that come along with war already made impartiality enticing, but Fringilla’s impromptu appearance was the final nail in the coffin. 

They were out-voted and left with only their prides in tact. The same pride Tissaia said she was willing to cast aside for the betterment of the people. As she reached out for Yennefer’s arm after the Conclave, she knew she was indeed putting her dignity in the palm of her former student’s hands. 

_“Please.”_ Tissaia heard herself whisper. A word she hasn’t uttered in recent memory. She held her breath as she awaited for an answer. 

In her moment of weakness, Tissaia surrendered her composure and displayed sincerity in her eyes. Yennefer’s features brightened as she seemingly gloated in her despair.

“Have you ever used that word before?” she sneered, staring down at her. 

The Rectoress swallowed and immediately regretted her decision of allowing Yennefer to slip through her guard. She turned her head away from the raven-haired sorceress and cleared her throat. A moment of clarity was all she needed to regain her composure again. She tried to reason with her, she even pleaded, but it was all for nothing. This time, her pride was not spared. 

She refocused her gaze back at her pupil, calm and collected. The tears that threatened to expose her weakness were gone, and the softness in her voice was now rigid. “I don’t have time for your juvenile games, Yennefer. If you wish to leave these walls for good, do so. Make sure you go before midnight.” 

She may have wanted to say something, but Tissaia had already walked away. 

* * *

Yennefer posted herself on the balcony that overlooked the vast garden of Aretuza. Had it truly been decades since she last frolicked on that grass, read books under those trees, and gossiped with Anica on those benches? The memory in her mind was deceptively clear; she almost forgot that she was no longer a student here. She has since lived through countless lives, achieved the most whimsical wishes she thought would make her happy, betrayed and loved, and became revered across the lands. 

Power, fame, money - she had it all. But each time she encountered Tissaia, she felt weak, invisible and indigent. It infuriated her to feel that all her sacrifices were all for naught. A harrowing sense of disillusionment and bitterness hung over her existence like Death during the plague. She touched her belly, imagining what it would feel like to have warmth blossom from within instead of the frigid reminder that she was the one who perpetrated the murder of such possibility. 

Soft whispers of the wind cradled Yennefer’s cool cheeks before it interlaced through her thick raven locks. The breeze felt like a soothing balm to her festering wounds, but it only proved to be a temporary anaesthetic, fading as quickly as it manifested.

After the heated affairs in the conclave, and the current turbulent atmosphere brewing within the walls, she needed some time to reflect by herself. Her hands rested on the stone balcony, nails lightly etching onto it as she curled her hands. A rebellious wisp of hair fell from the bunch and dangled an inch from her nose as she held her head down in deep contemplation. 

Despite distancing herself from the unruly crowd, she felt confliction within herself. She initially agreed to come back to Aretuza - to Tissaia - in seek of something, but now she felt compelled to run far, far away from the only calling beckoning for her. She fiddled with her star pendant as she chewed on her bottom lip. 

_“If you will not do it for the Brotherhood, then do it for me.”_

The words, while a distant echo, probed at her conscience. Her allegiance was no longer bound to _her_. She was loyal only to herself; she has already abandoned the political world, so why should she intervene now? This matter didn’t concern her. So, why? Why does she feel like she had just committed the ultimate betrayal? A rueful expression was visible on her face as her eyebrows knitted together. 

_“Please.”_

She felt it, Tissaia made sure she had, and now her emotions were in a spiral. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t erase the Rectoress from her mind. Tissaia’s ocean-filled eyes were grey from the storm she felt within herself, her tall demeanor felt so demure, and the placid expression she often wore revealed its hairline fractions. She _allowed_ herself vulnerable to her, and Yennefer... _gloated_ at her sight. 

Her nails scraped against the stone as she balled her hands into tighter fists. What a deplorable deed she has committed. She almost felt sick from the guilt of it. 

“I’d figured you would have ran away by now.” 

She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know whose inflection that voice belonged to. She took a deep breath in and exhaled before turning. “Stregobor,” she acknowledged with apparent distaste, but with a contradictory fictitious smile, “shouldn’t you be in your studies by now, filing Witcher contracts to assassinate little girls? Or do you only do that during the full moon?” 

He dryly chuckled as he brought his chalice close to his lips, taking a sip of his red wine. “I see the years have not dulled your sharp tongue, but I guess that’s the merit required in serving at Aedirn’s court. Even the shallowest - _untalented -_ of mages can qualify to serve the king so long as they have a good mouth.” 

Lightning in Yennefer’s eyes crackled, and bolts of electricity teetered their existence at her fingertips. Her lips pressed together tightly as she refrained herself from committing a crime she knew Tissaia will also have to pay on her behalf. Her tightened chest unconstrained as she drew out one long breath. She inwardly listened to one of Tissaia’s teachings from long ago and soothed the blaze of fire gurgling in her extremities.

By the looks of it, Stregobor was mildly intoxicated and in a celebratory mood. There was not a shadow of doubt that he was revelling in Tissaia’s defeat. “Have you already commenced a feast to commemorate the loss hundreds of innocent lives to this war, because of your innate cowardice?”

Stregobor didn’t say anything at first, only looked at her with tightened eyes. Then his resentful smirk resurfaced - gods, she wished she could hack it off. “Well, perhaps your should join me. I mean, you _aren’t_ participating in it too, are you?”

Her mouth ran dry. 

“You have always been so quick to condemn people, Yennefer, you forget to judge yourself.” He languidly ran his hand over the balcony as he inched closer to her. “A self-serving, power-hungry hypocrite is what you are. The Ascension has made you feel entitled to everything when you are _nothing_ but a disgrace to Aretuza and a smear on the Brotherhood’s reputation.”

Yennefer intently watched as he took a swig of his beverage. Fingers flexed. Chaos under her sleeve. If she wished for it, he would be blown out from this balcony. While he was good at concealing his weakness, there was visible impairment in his posture and in speech. He was at her mercy, if anything. 

“....being beautiful can only conceal so much of your scars,” he continued to dawdle. Then, before Yennefer could come to grips with herself, his hand reached out for her wrist and traced over her faded scar. “You were even stupid enough to keep a _memorabilia_ of your failed life. ”

Yennefer recoiled and jerked her hand away from Stregobor. How did he know about her scar? Did Tissaia…. Did she….

“My dear, she didn’t have to. I know a lot of things. You see, there are benefits in forming social networks.”

“Istredd…..” 

“One of the many sources I have, yes.” He said simply, discarding his chalice on the wayside. “Of course, we’re not in contact anymore since he became content with shovelling up shit and dirt. He was not really a clever boy, that Istredd, no. I was just lucky that you were stupider than he was.” He crossed his arms. “My god, what did Tissaia _ever_ see in you?” 

Yennefer’s nails were now digging into her skin to stop herself from conjuring her wrath onto this pompous man. “While you ponder on that, I’m going to head back to Vengerberg. Good night, Stregobor.” Before she could step back inside, his voice stopped her. 

“All the years she has spent protecting you was all a waste, it seems.”

She turned. “What? ‘ _Protecting’_ me?” 

“I’m sorry - _tried_ protecting you. Like you, she was incompetent in doing so - I guess you _are_ like student and master. You always give it your best, but it’s never really good enough to make a difference.” He tutted as he shook his head. 

“Tissaia would never protect me, especially if her pride and status are on the line.” 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Anyone with a functioning brain would never risk their neck out for someone like _you.”_ He threw his hands up in the air as he continued, “But no, she _stupidly_ fought for your right to stay in Aedirn’s court. Did she gain anything from it? Of course not. If anything, it jeopardized her status as the Rectoress of Aretuza. Especially - _especially -_ when she protested against your sanction for leaving your post at Aedirn. Instead, she warned you. The _stupidity_ in that! _I_ would have _personally_ escorted you back here.”

Tissaia did all that behind her back? That didn’t sound like her at all. No, this must all be a joke. The Tissaia she knew……

A sudden thunderous blast echoed within the walls of Aretuza, alerting both Yennefer and Stregobor. 

“What was that?” she asked out loud, glancing at the older man who had his mouth agape. 

Another clash occurred, much more violent than before, causing the grounds to tremble in its wake.

Yennefer quickly located the disruption to be in Tissaia’s chambers. Stregobor must have too because he said, “Jesus, what is that woman doing?” 

She pulled her dress up and rushed upstairs.

* * *

Upon arriving at Tissaia’s door, Yennefer saw Triss huddled next to Sabrina, other mages from the conclave, and Vilgefortz leaning against the door. She approached him, “What is happening?” 

“Tissaia is not in a good mood,” he said before grabbing her by the arm. “Don’t go in there. Trust me, she doesn’t want to see anyone.” 

Yennefer huffed and yanked her arm free from his grip. “And since when have I respected her wishes?” she rhetorically asked. 

He stopped her again. This time, his arm was outstretched in front of her. “I _know_ her and-” 

“Not like I do,” Yennefer quickly quipped back, eyes sparkling in contention. 

“Yenna, I-I also don’t think that’s a good idea!” Triss shrieked, stepping towards them. 

The rest of the bystanders murmured their agreement. While this was meant to dissuade Yennefer, it only served as her reason to twist the brass handle. In this sea of supporters, no one truly knew Tissaia. How lonely that must be. 

“Remain outside, then.” She simply said before she let herself into the Rectoress’ quarters.

* * *

Yennefer had only stepped foot in Tissaia’s bedchambers once, but that was enough to know that her room has never looked dilapidated before; books, papers, _ink_ were all strewn across the floor, and the content of her potion bottles were sprayed all over her vanity mirror in the corner of the room. Yennefer’s eyes hovered from one disaster to another until she found the Tissaia’s back. She was in front of the fireplace, standing tall as she always did, but Yennefer could see an iota of weakness in her posture. 

She stepped forward only to curse when her heel crushed a vial that must have been thrown alongside with the other objects that were in the way of Tissaia’s wrath. Tissaia raised her head and looked over her shoulder. “Vilg, I…” Her throat constricted when their eyes found each other again. 

Normally she was quick on her feet to carry the conversation along, but this time, Yennefer found herself grasping for words to say. She took another step then paused. 

Tissaia sighed. “I thought you would have left by now.” 

“Everyone has been telling me that. Even _I_ told myself that…” 

“Cut to the chase, Yennefer. What do you want?” Her back was still turned to her and her voice seemed dismissive. Clearly, expending all of her power had left Tissaia too fatigued to even entertain the idea of engaging in another meaningless argument with her.

They had always been hot and cold with each other that Yennefer had forgotten what it would be like to be frozen away from her like this. The shadow of her figure cast a large distance between them and Tissaia looked like a figure at the end of a very distant tunnel. Again, the young sorceress fiddled for words that would be enough to reach her.

Tissaia finally turned to her, revealing her disheveled appearance. She pushed back the loose strands of hair as she huffed, shoulders sagging and eyes forlorn. She walked around the room, partially ignoring Yennefer’s presence in the middle of it, and settled down on the edge of her bed, which surprisingly remained pristine. 

Yennefer willed herself to inch forward. She stood in front of the Rectoress, quiet. The soft crackles in the fire filled the silence between them, and the shadows painting the walls of the room masked their expressions away from each other. 

“You were right,” the purple-eyed sorceress finally confessed, making the other woman’s head shoot up in response. “That speech you gave in that meeting. You were right.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“That entire speech you made about Cintra, you were also talking about me, were you not? I know you too well now to think otherwise. No one else picked up on it, but I know that you expected _me_ to understand it.” 

Tissaia neither confirmed nor denied her speculation, but her wandering eyes told her everything she needed to know. 

“Like I said, you were right. I am scared. I’m scared of what having countless of lives will mean in the end if it’s wasted on mindless pandering, and of what use I have of these _abilities_ if I have no purpose, no legacy. I came here to Aretuza hoping that I would finally have something to live for….” 

“But you didn’t find one…” 

“I did.” 

She watched as Tissaia’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Before she could splutter out the words she was trying to piece together in her mind, Yennefer continued, “You were right in Rinde, and the times before that. I’m a lost cause without your guidance, a conduit cracking under pressure of possibility, and I now realise that the only reason why I haven’t faced the repercussions of my actions is because of you.” 

“I don’t -” 

“Stregobor told me about what you have done for me.” 

“That doesn’t sound like him at all.” 

“The man is off his tits downstairs, celebrating your loss.”

That _sounded like him,_ Tissaia contemplated. 

“But _he’s_ not the point.” 

“What is _your_ point, Yennefer?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

A question for a question. _This was typical of Yennefer,_ Tissaia thought.

“Would it have mattered?” 

And it was typical for Tissaia to deflect from her emotions. It was clear from their mulish attitudes that they were not ready for any form of catharsis. Yennefer’s jaw clenched as she intently watched Tissaia avert her own gaze from her. This was not the resolution she wanted, true, but she knew the path for such was not a linear one. She needed to initiate the first step.

“I’ll go to Sodden with you and the other mages. I will help you protect this continent from Nilfgaard. After all, I owe you, Tissaia.” She knelt down and scooped up the grimoire in between them before she settled beside her. 

The bed dipped under their weight. Their elbows and shoulders grazed against each other as Yennefer straightened her dress out. Tissaia watched her movement carefully and settled her eyes on her face. She licked her lips before she spoke. “Thank you, Yennefer.” 

“There’s still not enough of us, so it will be difficult.” 

“Mhm. At least now, we have you alongside Vilgefortz, Triss and Sabrina.” 

“We also have you.” She said before adding, “I mean, look at what you did to this place. If you do the same thing tomorrow, I doubt the rest of us will have to lift a finger.” 

Tissaia chuckled, warm and genuine. It was the first time she had made her laugh. Yennefer smiled with glee in return, leaning slightly towards her until their arms were firmly against each other’s. 

“Oh gods, I’m going to have to clean this up before tomorrow.” The Rectoress groaned, exasperated, upon realisation.

Yennefer chuckled. “Can’t you just make your students do it for you?” 

“And what would that make me?” 

“Efficient?” 

The older woman rolled her eyes. “A fraud! It goes against everything I teach; we are responsible for our actions and we must pay the price at the appropriate time.” 

“But sometimes a little help doesn’t hurt. _You_ also taught me that.” At this point in her life, Yennefer was an empty vessel with no one to fill the void. Istredd had burned the possibility of reconciliation between them, and Geralt had given her enough reasons to not resign her trust to anyone ever again. She thought that she was on this journey by herself, but Tissaia had been behind her all this time, waiting to catch her if she ever stumbled. 

It was time she returned the favour. 

With a small encantation, Yennefer waved her hand and directed the books back into the bookshelf. Tissaia’s eyes lit up in appreciation, taking that as her cue to use her own power to clean up the spills from the potions and to reassemble the broken shards back together. 

Yennefer stood up and rearranged the furniture back to their original setting and directed the pieces of papers into a pile on her desk. Within minutes, Tissaia’s chambers was almost back to how it was before the storm. She turned on her heels and watched as the Rectoress placed the vials neatly back into their compartments. 

“We make a good team,” she lightly said. 

“We do.” 

“It’s a shame we spent decades opposing each other.” 

This time the Rectoress didn’t agree. 

“ _I_ spent decades opposing you,” Yennefer aptly corrected. 

“The benefit to having multiple lives to live is that we can start over as many times as we need to.” 

Yennefer smiled as she approached her. She wordlessly offered back the grimoire she kept in her hand.

Tissaia accepted the book and reciprocated her affection. 

Maybe it was time that they tried again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I live. This is a compilation of one-shots I started way, wayy back (the other two date back to Dec. 2019) wrapped together into a 3-shot kind of story. This is not really the Tissaia/Yennefer story I wanted to come back with, but it's still something! 2 more one-shots to finish, and future smutty ones to come! 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Leave your thoughts somewhere in the comments :)  
> Stay safe.


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